BREAKING NEWS: 300 Sandwiches Chick Cried After Her Pole Dancing Class

She didn’t feel sexy enough.

Reenactment of what this girl's boyfriend looks like. NOT sandwich-worthy. And possibly undead.
Reenactment of what this girl’s boyfriend looks like. NOT sandwich-worthy. And possibly undead.

Jeeeeeeeeeeeez o’petes this makes me sad.

First, the whole story makes me feel yucky. Guy tells girlfriend, “Babe, you are 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring.”

Girl “jokingly” starts a blog documenting her sandwich-making pipeline to a rock. Except, how much of a “joke” is this if she’s calculating the time breakdown of sandwich making/distribution so that she can be engaged and married before her mid-thirties?

How much of a joke is it if she’s seriously and in earnest using words like “wife material”? How secure is she in herself and her relationship if she’s freaking out at a pole dancing class because “not looking sexy enough” means her boyfriend is going to look at other girls?

None of this seems particularly funny to me.

Not that I’m being judgy here–I completely empathize with her. But let’s just call it what this whole sandwich experiment is: a tactic to win love and approval from somebody who should already love and approve of you. And that’s fucked up. It’s not cute. It’s not a joke. And if somebody dangles a ring in front of you like it’s some kind of carrot on a stick for you to prove that you’re “wife material,” I’ll have to quote Dan Savage and advise you to DTMF.

As far as this woman’s experience with pole dancing, as a teacher, I can tell you she’s hardly in the minority for crying after. Girls get really down on themselves in beginner classes for not being able to achieve a stripper aesthetic within their first hour. Which is crazy to me, because who is even looking at you? Your boyfriend is not here! This is about learning tricks and having fun, and sweating a little in the process. If you already walked in looking like a rock star on the pole, why bother taking a class? It’s about learning and having fun, not being perfect or using the class as a litmus test for how hot you are.

If there is any man-related sexy to be gained from pole dance, it comes from the confidence you get through expressing yourself. Chances are, as a beginner, you don’t have a pole at home, and no men are allowed in the studio. All you take with you when you finish a class is how you feel. If you come out down and crying over not looking sexy enough, what’s the point?

Oh and NEWSFLASH: most men don’t even find what I do on the pole now sexy. What they really like to see is what I promise you everyone can already do: pop your booty, flip your hair, and smirk like you know exactly what you’re doing.

You don’t need a class for that. (Seriously, try it the next time you’re at a club: make eye contact with a guy, smile, and do a little head roll while you’re dancing. That is NOT a banana in his pants, ladies).

stephanie smith
Okay so IRL he has a tan, but STILL.

Moral of the story: if you have a boyfriend, he should love you. Sandwiches are bonus. Pole dancing is bonus. And if you DO want to do these things, for god’s sake, do them because you genuinely want to. Life is too short for crying after class.

OH, just wondering though… can we all speculate as to which studio she went to? Clues: Midtown, and the class is likely called “Climb and Spin”… GO!

Happy (SELFISH) twirls!

Cathy

Loving Pole in an Inappropriate Way.

Mkay, so I’m boyfriendless.

I am okay with this, mainly because I don’t have to deal with any

And who could have known… I was already straddling my dream date.

rollercoaster emotional stuff, but also because, without all the “quality time” nonsense, I can take good care of myself–cook well rounded meals, paint my toenails regularly, get 7.5 hours of sleep, yada yada yada. I realize this makes me sound old, but with 3 jobs and a 1-1.5 hour commute, making myself a salad before I collapse is kind of a big deal. So I’m enjoying it.

Besides, boys are fun, but if you see the relationship through its natural trajectory, it becomes horrible and exhausting. Like, you take an adorable puppy home, but then it gets big and pees on stuff and bites your friends.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is probably going to be like every time I have a bad hangover and decide to not drink a certain kind of liquor again. I love boys. I’ll get back out there. I’ll fall madly in love and get my heart broken, and then write another post like this in 6 months.

(Just like every time I forget about the dry heaving and think it’s a good idea again to shoot whiskey on an empty stomach again).

BUT FOR NOW: I’m in a new kind of committed relationship, and his name is Pole.

Why Pole Is Better Than Any Boyfriend I’ve Ever Had:

1. He’s always hard

WINK.

2. He’s supportive

Seriously, I can swing circles around him.

3. He ALWAYS wants to dance with me

…and he never does the white man’s overbite. Better yet…

4. He always lets me have the spotlight

Pole, u so secure.

5. He lifts me up and makes me stronger

How many men (ahem, boys) can you say this about?

6. …But when it hurts, it’s not for no reason

Gotta bruise a little, there’s no getting around it. But boy is that gorgeous new pose worth it!

7. He doesn’t get jealous

Not even when I flirt with chair 😉

8. He doesn’t get mad if I flirt with him and then decide to go to sleep instead

Sometimes you just do a few pirouettes and decide you’re too tired for anything serious, ya know?

9. He’s always there for me

When I can’t sleep, when I’m bored on a Saturday afternoon, when I want to show off in a picture, when I want to scare my mom… the list is endless.

10. We look great together

Seriously. Cute couple alert.

Anyway, Happy Twirls!!! And fuck Valentine’s day. Right? Right.

Cathy

Pole Makes Me Feel Sexy–So Please, Dear God in Heaven, Can Somebody Get Me a Boyfriend.

DISCLAIMER: this post has nothing to do with pole.

You guys, I am single as fuck.

Being a pole dancer AND belly dancer (SHOW NEXT WEEK), and just starting chair dancing (more on that another time) means that I’m currently in the best shape of my life, feeling awesome and smexy, and also that I’m spending 99.99% of my free time with women.

So, being that I’m straight as fuck in addition to being single as fuck, my life leaves a bit to be desired. No offense ladies, you’re amazing. Just. I need testosterone. Badly.

Speaking of hormones, I legit think I’m radiating some kind of chemical or something lately. I’ve made more smoldering subway eye contact in the past few months than I’ve made in 6 years of riding the train. But, ya know, I’m shy so I always crack up and run off with out saying hi or anything. Not an effective tactic.

My perfect man: Jemaine Clement, from Flight of the Conchords. He’s married. OF FUCKING COURSE.

And the guys I work with are  great (confession: I have a crush on one that’s so bad that I’m incapable of looking directly at him, ever), but, they’re all in LTRs, so, yeah. Slap on the wrist for me. Down, girl.

I would beg all of you to find me my perfect guy, but dude, I have no idea. I don’t date a lot (I have to really like a guy as a person/friend to even go there in my brain, most of the time), but when I do, it’s… eclectic. A Russian mathematician. An Italian financial analyst. A West Indian (St. Lucia, holla!) IT guy. And now I find myself randomly drawn to Asian guys, and I’m still holding out for a writer (*swoon*). ??? I know, I know, dafuq is wrong with this girl, right?

Anyway. I’m just bummed out because I know I have to be the right girl for somebody. But I’m really shy, and even if guys approach me I get so nervous I have to just shut it down. Yeah I know, I’m hopeless.

And–confession time again!–I’m also very scared. I was checking an old email account and I found a draft I never sent this guy that I was soooo in love with, who alternated between sending me beautiful love notes and then ignoring me for weeks at a time.

I still kinda hate myself for getting sucked into that (for like 2 years), but reading my own words, I feel really sorry for me circa 2008. I was very trusting that this guy had good intentions, and I kept trying to work things out in ridiculous and painful conditions, and, I’m scared that I’m totally still that person. Which means, hey pain! Let’s hang out!

Anyway, how did you guys meet your boyfriends? Do they have nice brothers or cousins?

Please dear god, help. So. Fucking. Single.

Anyway, here’s a Portishead song.

Happy twirls, you blisffully attached bitches!
Cathy